Woke up this morning to find Harry, as usual, doing a Vulcan mind meld with my face.
"Yes, Deaf Cat, I hear you. So does all of Chicago."
I got up and plunked Harry onto the floor where his brother, George, waited. I headed for the bathroom, and noticed Harry's gait looked odd. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, and then realized: his left front leg was swollen. I squatted down and felt it - it felt like a hot dog wrapped in a water balloon. He's been favoring it a bit, probably because the paw was also swollen.
"Oh, Buddy," I said. I feel awful, watching this happen. So guilty that I can't make it better.
Harry just purred at me, his expression all, "This? 'Tis but a scratch!"
And then we all had breakfast.